


Final Performance

by kittythespider



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Acting, Angst, Disguise, Drabble, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm desperate, One Shot, Romance, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt, a sprinkle of, is it though?, suggest tags please, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22317388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittythespider/pseuds/kittythespider
Summary: How many different roles can a human play during his or her lifetime? How many disguises can you wear in just one day? Harry glanced at the person in the mirror. Smiled at him. His face was the same, yet it felt as if he didn’t recognise the green eyes and the mouth that smiled back at him.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, i guess - Relationship, onesided - Relationship
Kudos: 6





	Final Performance

**Author's Note:**

> What's up? So, the inspiration for this one shot came to me in the middle of an exam! I just couldn't shake it, so here you go! : )

**Five minutes.**

He rubbed the mirror clean of steam with his towel and looked at his own reflection. Harry was never happy with what he saw. The lower lip always hung too much, as if it was lazy, the cheekbones were asymmetrical. It wasn't a pretty face, he thought. Not one of those you wanted to keep looking at, unless you were forced to because it was your own. The dew did him good, it masked the ugly features.

That's why Harry loved the minutes in front of the mirror: the sensation of wearing another skin on his flesh. When playing his role, the transformation always started with the discreet makeup. No one knew he wore makeup. But he felt protected when he wore it - it was like a shield.

Firstly, the concealer. Just a thin coat, he shouldn't look like a mannequin. It should look natural. He then worked on his eyebrows, plucking the unwanted hairs. Layer by layer, he went through the transformation. He squinted at the wristwatch on the counter.

**Four minutes.**

The big divo, the star actor in his last stellar hour. When Harry closed his eyes, he imagined that he could sense the hall sum of restrained anticipation. He could hear the director pull the final props completely into place, hear the sound of feet scurrying across the stage like mice on a loft.

He imagined how the audience sat on the rows of chairs or snuck around in the dark, trying to find their seats, all waiting for him to make his entrance on the stage.

It was nerve racking to imagine that they were sitting up there, waiting for him. Every once in a while, he dreamed of becoming a famous actor who appeared on the major stages in London, New York, and maybe even Chicago.

But so far he had to settle for this, his own stage, but that was okay too. It wasn't long until he was supposed to be on stage. Showtime. For the last time. Somewhere up there, a technician was adjusting the spotlight, soon it would hit him, only him, and he would feel as baffled and playful as the first time he stepped on stage.

Would he miss the role? Would he miss presenting a different version of himself every single day? He probably would, even if he would never admit it to anyone.

Harry had begun to play with the idea that he could live on in the role, that he didn't have to give it up. The role would live on without him, he was sure, but could he live without it? Could he have gone on another stage without the safety of the makeup, without disguise, without the knowledge that no one really knew him, even if they thought they did? After the last performance today, could he sit back in front of the mirror, take off his makeup, look in the mirror and move on with his life life, knowing that he would never see this character again?

Ginny really liked him, after all. She told Harry. She had even repeated it in her letters to him, ending the sentence with a small heart. She had said that she liked him, but Harry knew better. She was in love with who he had become. And that was okay, because as long as she was in love with just one version of him, it was fine.

**"Three minutes," someone shouted.**

At his old school, Dudley and his friends had been after him. Even then, he had felt like someone else, but at that time he had not been able to control it himself. The Harry the others saw was not the Harry he wanted to be. Popular, outgoing. Instead of being the quiet, boring boy with messy hair and a thin body.

The Harry he had shaped was different. In a good way. He had used his imagination, the only thing his transfiguration professor had ever praised him for. And he had found inspiration in the telly. Studied it and copied various TV-star’s ways of winking at people, or the way they used their hands when emphasising a point.

How long had he been playing this version of himself? Harry doubted he could let him go again. He liked him, after all. He was charming, more outgoing, easier to love than the Harry who was hiding under the makeup.

The Harry only he knew was moody. Boring. The Harry he usually was could be directly suffocating his surroundings when in a bad mood: Ginny had once told him that. Suffocating.

**Two minutes.**

Harry smiled at himself in the mirror. The makeup was applied, the hair was set, the transformation was nearly complete.

It wasn't because he hadn't tried other roles. His face had carried countless skins on his flesh, but never with the same naturalness as this. The other characters had been too one-dimensional, too angular, too far from the original. Too much. He had tried too hard. And they had laughed. The reviews had been harsh.

One of the characters had come into existence for Ginny's sake. It was just after she had called Harry suffocating. He hated that word, hated the oppression it entailed. In response, he had tried to produce a character that was anything but suffocating. A character who was impulsive, spacious, laid back. He had played it for the first time at a party in the Gryffindor, but had failed. He had fallen in and out of the role, had not hit the mimic and tone properly. The others had laughed at him.

Ginny had been confused. Had said she couldn't recognise the old Harry. The Harry who tormented and suffocated his surroundings. She hadn’t said that last thing, but that was what she meant.

Instead, Harry had created this brilliant role, the role he had played day in and day out for over two years. It was a shame that it was over, but that's how it had to be. Or what?

**One minute.**

How many different roles can a human play during his or her lifetime? How many disguises can you wear in just one day? At school, at work, at home, in the media? How many roles do you take on, and how many are just given to you without being able to say no?

Harry registered a knock on the door; he was called on stage. He closed his eyes again, tried to absorb the energy of the room, listened to the chorus of dozens of whispering mouths and the rhythm of shoes trampling against the floor above him.

There was knocking again, this time harder.

"Harry, it’s time," Ron shouted from their dorm, knocking one last time on the bathroom door. “We're heading down for breakfast in a moment. We're only waiting for you. "

Harry glanced at the person in the mirror. Smiled at him. His face was the same, yet it felt as if he didn’t recognise the green eyes and the mouth that smiled back at him. Last school day before the summer-break, last performance, until next school-year. _Showtime._

**Author's Note:**

> That was certainly interesting. I really want this to be a full-length fic, but it's probably best as a one-shot.. <3


End file.
